It was Valentine’s Day and I was sitting in my car trying to
figure out if the sweater I had chosen to wear was actually pink, or faded to
the point of an awkward grey. I decided to give up this particular endeavor,
and go into the CMR (community mail room) to continue my errands, when my phone
rang with a number I didn’t recognize. “Mrs. Willey, I’m just calling to let
you know your husband is on his way home.” I am sure the caller said some
things after that, but that was all I heard. I half cried, half giggled as I
hung up the phone and skipped back to my car. I had to just sit still in the
car before I was able to drive, I felt like the world looked different-
brighter, sharper. I finally gave into the tears and let them come. The tears
were no stranger to me, but these were different. They were the same big, warm drops
that had fallen down my cheeks since last February, but these tears consisted
of pure joy, thankfulness, and promise.
I finally pulled it
together long enough to grab an energy drink from the store (I knew sleep was
not in the cards for me that day) and make the 20 minute drive home. I honestly
cannot remember what I did in the hours since I got that phone call and driving
back to base to pick my husband up. I know I took an obnoxiously long time to
get ready, making sure each tendril of hair was in its proper place, and
redoing the upwards flick of my kitten eye makeup four times.
The hours inched by, taunting me I just know it, until at
last it was time to drive to base. It was 11 PM, the night was a cold,
beautiful darkness that seemed to be celebrating with me. The thick snowflakes
flying madly around my car seemed to be twirling to a frenzied, elated dance
that said, “We know! We are so happy too!” I made it to the gym where the
ceremony was to be held, and I rushed into the big, bright, and warm gym.
Although it was nearing midnight, the gym was packed with spouses, children, friends,
and fellow soldiers. There was an energy buzzing throughout the place that was
palpable, you could taste it and you could certainly feel it coursing through
the veins of everyone there. I have the greatest friends in the world, and they
all showed up with cameras in hand, sleepy and happy for me.
For a girl who cries at the thought of a drop of a hat, I
held it together surprisingly well. I think I was too numb, too in shock at
what was about to happen, to truly let the emotions and magnitude of the
situation get to me. I busied myself chatting with my friends, reading the
welcome home banners made with so much love, and studying the other spouses.
Besides the perfect face of makeup at 1 AM and the 4-inch stilettoes, I could
spot a spouse in an instant. Whether it was the nervous jiggling of a leg, or
the mile-wide smiles that left no room for any other expression, we were easy
to pick out. I remember having to take really deep breaths, and remind myself
to keep breathing, as it got closer to the time. Finally, a soldier grabbed the
microphone and said, “Are you ready to welcome your soldier home!?” As the gym
erupted into cheers and clapping, the double doors burst open and the soldiers
began marching in.
They all looked the same in their multicam hats and tired,
but hopeful faces. I began to panic as soldier after soldier marched in and I
still had not seen mine. Just as I began to feel the frightened tears well up,
I spotted him. “ZACK!” I screamed, flailing my arms wildly and jumping up and
down. My antics worked, because he looked directly at me and smiled that
beautiful smile that makes my insides dissolve. A few words were said, a quick
prayer, and then, “Okay, now go get your soldier!” I hopped off the bleachers
and my eyes began their quick, darting survey of faces with three day old
stubble and name tapes. It was a sea of browns and greens surrounding me and I
felt as though I was drowning in anticipation and multicam.
For a brief, blessed moment, the ocean of people swallowing
me parted, and he was standing there. In reality it was probably only a millisecond,
but it seemed like eternity as we took each other in with our eyes and crossed
the distance. He scooped me up in his arms as I buried my face into his neck, and
as cliché as it is, at that moment we were the only two people in that
gymnasium. The noise and sight of everyone around me ceased to exist, and all I
could comprehend was the thud of my heartbeat in my ears, the feel of the back
of his neck, and my silent song of, “thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.” He was
home- my husband and best friend was home for good. I let out of a sigh of relief
that I didn’t realize I had been holding in for a year. No longer did I have to
worry whether or not my husband was alive or go to bed lonely. The year-long
ache, tenseness, and sadness tore themselves out of my soul, and flew away.
On the drive home my face was flushed with emotion, and I
remember wanting to put my hot cheeks against the cool glass of the window, but
I could not tear my eyes away from him. I was afraid if I even blinked, he
would disappear and this would all have been an elaborate dream. I couldn’t
stop touching him, because he was so solid, so real, sitting not three feet
away from me. His smell and taste that I had come dangerously close to
forgetting came flooding back, and we spent the night attempting to play
catch-up on the past year of our lives we had missed. Our mouths couldn't get the stories out fast enough, or the kisses out quick enough.
That night in bed, as my eyelids began to grow heavy, I did
as I always did and stretched my leg over to the other side of the bed. But
unlike all the other nights when I felt nothing but chilly sheets, this time I
felt a warm body. A warm body that sighed in its sleep, wrapped its arms around
me and pulled me in close. A warm body that was half of my soul, had all of my
heart, and would be staying with me for a very long time. And that night I fell
asleep with the weight of the world somewhere else.
My husband was home from
war.
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